


Painting Roses

by corinnemaree



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Love at First Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinnemaree/pseuds/corinnemaree
Summary: He meets her once, and it was love at first sight. Owen just needs to find the redhead that stole his heart in an art gallery





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, thanks to @cometothedarkside-x and @poeticandvaguelysweet for giving this fic a read, helping me out with it. Honestly, you’re both a great help. Thanks again. Hope everyone likes this.

_ We were out painting roses red without accomplishment _

_ When a thorn caught the thread of my skin _

_ And it unravelled like binding from a bible _

_ Only to discover my flesh failed at survival _

_ Well I don't know about you _

_ But when I am alone my body feels dysfunctional _

_ It's true _

_ Do you, _

_ Do you think I'm a fool? _

 

Owen had been sitting in that gallery every day for a month. He had been forced there the first time by his sister, one of her works put on display for a short time, and he did want to support her. She was in the postmodern section, a beautiful display of colours splattered onto canvas in wild motions, yet utter tranquillity of colours was what decorated the piece. Owen had never truly allowed himself to get invested in art, not quite sure what to feel when he looked at it. It was beautiful, of course, but the meanings were always lost on him. Tara was working on a sculpture at that time as well, so Owen had the excuse of going throughout the month. But in reality, he went there to see someone else. Hence the sitting. 

When Owen had visited the first time, he stood in front of Tara’s art. He was trying to see how the paint lifted from the canvas, but still trying not to get close. Then, a figure was at his side and he felt that he was an outcast. “You know,” the female voice hummed. “I’ve never been able to get the whole postmodern thing. Bit weird if you ask me.” Owen turned to the woman, and he swallowed nervously. 

There she was, a living artwork in a gallery filled with blank canvases. She was tall in her heels, with long red hair and a small smirk at the edge of her lips that had Owen already growing weak. Her small upturned nose was adorable, yet her electric blue eyes had him paralysed. She had on a bright red dress that wrapped itself to her tightly, a white blazer over the top and pinned in at her waist. In her hand she held her clutch as well as something on the outside that he couldn't quite make out from a glance. Owen wouldn’t be able to say what period of artwork she would be from, but in his eyes, she could be a priceless artwork just for the world to gaze at. 

“I’m not very good with art. My sister is the creative one,” Owen said, trying not to fumble his words as he gestured towards the painting in front of them. He knew his cheeks were probably a deep shade of crimson, but he couldn’t help it. She nodded, smiling as she took in the artwork.

“Is this her piece?” she asked and Owen nodded.

“Yeah, she’s really proud of it, but I don’t get it,” he shrugged and the woman gave a soft chuckle. 

“She’s very talented,” the woman smiled again. She suddenly walked further into the piece, placing a small red dot above the piece’s title. The woman grinned at Owen once more, biting at her lip as she nodded as a goodbye.

“I’ll let her know you think so,” Owen gave a soft call and the woman turned, her hair flipping over her shoulder. Owen lost his breath, watching as she smiled again and walking to another part of the gallery, just out of sight. Owen watched the blank space for so long, it felt like hours. Then, his sister touched his shoulder and it was only a moment.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked, slumped on his side. 

“I have no clue,” Owen remarked to the small blonde woman. Tara looked up at Owen then chuckled. 

“She was pretty,” she said tugging back over to the painting. 

“Beyond,” Owen sighed before watching as Tara examined her art. “She liked your art, by the way,” Owen commented and Tara leaned into dot, gracing her finger over it and suddenly getting very giddy. 

“I like her,” Tara squeaked, kissing Owen’s cheek and taking him back to her workspace out in the back. 

 

*~*~*

 

Back to the day at hand, Owen was dressed quite nicely. He didn’t do it to impress the mystery woman - if she were to ever show up again - he was there for his sister. Tara had finally finished her sculpture, and the gallery had loved her art so much, they gave her another shot. Tara was finalising the display when Owen noticed that her original painting was gone. 

Owen watched the team come together with Tara, setting up her sculpture in the position is was allocated. Tara was directing the men, constantly watching her sculpture be put into place and her nerves showing. Her foot bounced and she was drumming a beat on her forearm as she waited. Tara was proud of her work, and so was Owen, but this was something she had never done before and she was scared it wasn't good enough. Owen knew it was. 

Then, there was a sharp tapping across the tiled floors. Owen slowly turned, noticing a woman walking closer to him. And then, he saw who it was; the mystery woman. He smiled brightly, noticing the different dress she had on, a bright blue colour and her vibrant hair gracing over one shoulder. She had noticed him first, walking directly to him. 

“It’s you again,” she chimed, walking gracefully over to Owen. He felt himself rise from the little couch, his hand nervously running over his pants. He cracked a wavering smile, his nerves getting the better of him.

“Hi,” he breathed out. He needed to be confident. Yet, her next words had him struggling to find an answer. 

“I’ve been told you were asking about me,” she smiled confidently, raising her eyebrow and Owen realised how word must have gotten around. He wasn’t hiding his attraction and fascination with her. When he got the chance, he asked staff, he would talk about what she wore or if they knew anything, but they could never guess who he was talking about. They must have talked and well, told her. 

“Yeah, that...um...I’m not very good at this,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Good at what exactly?” she asked, folding her arms and a smirk at the end of her lips.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. Chewing on his lip, he made the decision to be a fool and go with his gut. “I...I-I thought you were beautiful and I wanted to ask you out but you were gone,” he blurted and swallowed as she stood there, silent and unphased. 

“You’re not good at asking me out?” she shrugged, cracking a large smile and Owen chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I’m not good at finding out who you are. I’m so sorry,” he confessed and apologised, taking his feet back to where his sister would be. 

“Are you still planning on asking me out?” the woman interrupted his walk. He stopped, turned back to her and closed the distance with slow steps.

“I don’t think I stand a chance after the humiliation I put myself through. As well as how embarrassing it is -” 

“In front of my colleagues, yeah,” she interrupted once more and Owen felt the more guilty for it. 

“You do work here?” he silently berated himself. What the fuck was he thinking? Getting hung up on a woman he met once. And for what? Because she was stunning and knocked him off his feet? He was a fool.

“Yes and no,” she giggled slightly, tucking hair behind her ear. “I’m an art buyer. I buy art for my clients and they use them,” she explained, revealing a little sheet with red dots all over it. Just like the one she put above Tara’s painting. 

“And you bought my sister’s piece,” Owen exclaimed and she nodded. 

“She’s very talented. I mean, I don’t care for postmodern art, but my client Simon Masrani loved it,” she mentioned, her hands meeting in front of her and smiling brightly at him.

“Your client is Simon Masrani? From Masrani Global?” Owen asked, a small chuckle coming from his lips. 

“Yeah. You know about him?” she asked, stepping in a little more. Owen felt her get closer, the sensation to be around her for more time was overwhelming. She seemed to have that effect on him. She made him act like a lovesick fool. And he loved feeling that way about her.

“I worked with him. Setting up his animal division,” Owen confessed and she seemed impressed for a moment.

“But you don’t work for him now?” she asked, realising Owen had used past tense. He shook his head.

“No, went back to the Navy for a bit,” he said, unveiling his dog tag necklace from underneath his shirt. Her hand reached up to the dog tags, running her finger over the pressed letters.

“Well, I was going to offer you a job, but I realise how ridiculous that was, considering you said you didn’t know a thing about art,” she shrugged before they both laughed. Owen bit his lip, knowing the conversation had run its course; yet, he didn’t want to leave her side just yet. He didn’t even know her name. 

“My sister is always available if you need someone to get some postmodern work,” Owen said quickly and the woman beamed. She took her purse, found a small card and handed it to Owen.

“Not a bad idea. Get her to call me,” she said before she waved over Owen’s shoulder. When he turned, he saw one of the art gallery’s curators gesturing her over. She started to go past Owen when she chased a little ways back to him, catching his hand. “And while you’re at it, you can call me too,” she winked before going back to where the curator was.

“I’m Owen!” Owen called out suddenly. She should have at least known his name before she disappeared again. She turned, biting her lip.

“I know,” she called out and Owen’s brow furrowed. “I looked you up too,” she said, smiling wide and continuing on her way. Owen chuckled suddenly, looking down at the card and reading the name. 

“Claire Dearing,” Owen said to himself. He cracked a large smile, hitting the card against his hand and silently praising this day. He didn’t know why, but it felt like she was going to change his life with happiness of chaos. Either way, he was completely ready for the ride.


End file.
